This is How a Heart Breaks
by Dragonist
Summary: Howl's late to save the day when Sophie wanders down that alley. Too late. When Sophie takes the chance to stay with the only man she knows will never want her enough to hurt her, Howl finds himself falling for the one girl who will never love him back.
1. Chapter One

"Hey." A tall man dressed in a soldier's uniform drawled. He straightened up from where he stood leaning against the alley wall, a smile spreading across his face. Sophie, who had just about ran into him, held back a gasp. "Looks like a little mouse lost it's way."

"Oh," Sophie stared at him with wide eyes as she began to nervously back away. "No. I'm not lost." Undeterred by her timid refusal, the man simply smiled wider as his friend came out to stand beside him.

"This little mouse looks thirsty," he said, almost teasingly, as he stepped in front of her and blocked her way. "We should take her for a cup of tea."

"No thanks," Sophie glanced towards the ground, her hat shielding her face from view as the man's mustachioed friend leered at her. "My sister's expecting me."

"She's pretty cute," the man's mustache twitched as he smirked. "For a mouse."

"How old are you, anyway?" The first man leaned in closer, still smiling. Sophie looked up at the both of them with wide eyes. "You live around here?"

"Leave me alone!" Finally put up with their attitude, Sophie took a few steps back.

The two soldiers were not deterred. "Your mustache scares all the girls," the first man remarked, uncaring, as that damnable smirk still played upon his face.

"So?" His friend leaned in closer to Sophie once more. "I think she's even cuter when she's scared."

Please, Sophie prayed as she edged away from the soldiers, please just let me get out of here!

But she wasn't the youngest, or the middlest, or even really that pretty, so she wasn't too surprised when nobody came to save her.

"I have to go," she said as she edged away to the side and tried to make her way past them.

The first man still wore that strange little smirk when his mustachioed friend grabbed her arm. Hard. Sophie winced as his fingers dug into her arm with more than enough strength to bruise.

"You're not going anywhere," he said.

* * *

><p>AN: Because sometimes even I don't get it, so I figured you'd might like some pointers.

This is not a love story. This is not a fairytale. This is not the dashing prince steps up to the rescue not a moment too late; this is not true love's kiss saves the day; this is not a story where ontological inertia need not apply.

This is the story of one girl who has something unspeakably horrible happen to her, something so unspeakably horrible that it happens every two minutes (at least here in the United States. I'm almost too afraid to look it up for countries like Mexico, where I found out that being convicted of rape can earn you _a few hours in a jail cell_).

This is also the story of one boy who, for reasons I never quite understood from the film or from the novel, viewed himself as so much of a coward that he sold his heart to a demon, slithered out of every possible obligation, and (at least in the film) took to flying through burning, bombarding war scenes in his free time.

Rape isn't a plot device. Rape isn't something meant to get you off. Rape isn't something whose only downside is the possible baby and sexually transmitted diseases. If anything, rape is something that leaves you depressed and angry and suicidal, gives you nightmares and eating disorders and neurosis. It's something that _should_ make you feel a bit sick after hearing about it.

Sexual assault isn't always damaging physically, especially when things like alcohol or drugs are involved. What it always is, however, is damaging psychologically. And, as with all types of psychological traumas, individuals react in different ways. I tell you this not so to freak you out or to add another couple hundred words onto to my belovedly short intro, but to offer you some measure of preparation.

Honestly, Howl's probably where I'll be taking most of my liberties from the film. I've never really been a fan of the perfect hero archetype, and I've always sort of fancied Howl as the kind of person whose inner monologue spoke a completely different language than his character would suggest. However, putting him aside...

Sophie isn't some crying little maiden who falls to pieces at the first hint of trouble. When she was cursed to be an old lady, she didn't wish upon a star or run crying to her fairy godmother. She didn't even bother to tell her real mother. Instead, she just packed a small lunch sack and made her own way out of town. Sophie is a strong person. Chance of her falling into Howl's arms weeping as he solves all her problems and then whisks her off to a happy ever after? Zero. Chance of her forcing herself into his life as she solves almost all her own problems and then accidentally manages to make both of them some more? Ninety nine point nine nine percent.

So, yes, this is the story of a girl and a boy who fall in love under trying circumstances; their names don't have to be Romeo and Juliet for them to be considered star crossed lovers.

But that doesn't necessarily mean that there can be no happy ending.


	2. Chapter Two

Running one hand through his hair, Howl ducked down an alley to get away from the hustle and bustle of the festival. Markl, the little brat, had caught some kind of virus the other night and had been puking up what little remained in his stomach ever since.

The nerve! First he'd made him late for the party, and then he needed him to go fetch supplies!

_Really_. Howl pouted. It wasn't_ his_ fault that last time he'd tried to fix the boy's sickness with magic his hair had turned green for a week. For a wizarding apprentice, the kid was terribly sensitive to magical mishaps. He'd hate to see what the boy thought when it was time to practice his transformations.

Knowing him, he'd probably end up with half a head full of feathers, or one foot stuck webbed, and then he'd cry about it for _days_.

As it was, Howl was on a mission to fetch ginger ale and crackers, with strict instructions not to stop and waste time flirting with any pretty girls he might wander by. Honestly, it was like the boy didn't trust him at all! Howl did have _some_ priorities.

Plus, the Witch of the Waste had been on his trail for the past quarter of an hour. Howl really didn't feel like getting caught talking to some pretty face by her, of all people. She definitely wouldn't be his favorite person to meet up with in a dark alley like this.

He saw something shift up ahead, flashing as some weak ray of sunshine managed to make its way through the surrounding buildings. Howl tensed up, magic already sparking between his fingertips, before he recognized it as the bright blue uniform of a soldier. Nothing to worry about there, then.

Although…

Faintly, so soft he could barely here it, was the sound of a girl.

Crying.

From the corner where that soldier had been standing.

With what Howl now recognized as his belt shining in some dim ray of sunlight in the middle of the alley.

Now, Howl wasn't anybody's hero - he had much too much respect for his own skin to risk it for anyone else. But still… He always did have a weakness for a pretty face.

Quickly casting one of the simpler spells of invisibility - it was more of a notice-me-not combined with a somebody-else's-problem field than a true you-can-see-through-me spell - Howl quietly made his way down the alley. Just to look, of course. He wasn't completely sure of what he had heard, and there was never any good in jumping to conclusions-

Except maybe now. Howl's green eyes darkened as power rose up in him, his hair rising slightly to fly back in a non-existent wind.

There were two soldiers. Tall, muscular, and with a particular type of smile that Howl was well acquainted with pasted on their faces.

Then there was the girl. Sort of a plain, nerdy type - definitely not his usual. Big brown eyes, small pink mouth, flushed cheeks covered in trails of tears.

And then there were two belts, and one ripped dress, lying discarded on the floor.

Howl didn't particularly like his odds. Two against one was _not_ very chivalrous. Granted, seeing as the two of them seemed to possess no magic whatsoever, he probably could of taken ten times their number, and then some, and that was with him being modest.

But as his preferred odds were one against none, he still held some slight reluctance in, well, doing anything. At all. Except maybe calling the police or village guard and then running before anyone saw him.

After all, such a heartless man as himself, a known player of women, had no business playing at being the hero.

Except…

Even as he stood there, half-frozen but still cloaked by his magic, the crying little girl - well, young woman, it wasn't going to help his case of getting the hell out of there if he referred to _this_ as happening to a little kid - turned her eyes up, up, and away-

To look at him.

_At_ him.

At _him_.

Howl swallowed, throat suddenly very dry. No matter how many ways he thought it to himself, there was no changing the facts.

Which were, that despite looking slightly more terrified at seeing him, there was some new found flicker of hope dancing in her eyes even as she mouthed _help_ as she _looked straight at him_.

Despite the magic he quickly made sure was still in place.

Right then, Howl thought a bit mournfully as he gathered up some of his power. He guessed there would be no escaping it then.

The concealment spell slipped off of him like oil on water, spilling first down his shoulders and then past the long, tensed length of his body as it shivered back through a crack in reality. Howl cleared his throat as he stepped decidedly into the small alcove of the alley, his eyes briefly flashing a violet blue. "Honey?" he asked, magic crackling like a forest fire through his veins as he willed the girl to go along with him. The two soldiers, looking over their shoulders at him, at the very least had the sense to pale.

"Sorry," Howl said, his voice as hard and cold as ice, "for being so late."


	3. Chapter 3

She felt like she was going to be sick. Her eyes were unfocused and hazy, the world a discolored blur through her tears. This was so _wrong_ she didn't know what to do. Her fingernails were stained a coppery red, having dug into the flesh of her palm long enough for the sluggishly bleeding scratches to start to clot over them. Her lips were bitten through, and her pretty, bruised little mouth-

Sophie couldn't help shuddering as another sharp wave of pain rocked through her body. This was so _wrong_. It felt like a nightmare, one of the ones where no matter how hard you tried, how much you cried, every time you opened your mouth to scream nothing came out. The monsters under your bed almost had you, your fingers were scrabbling to hold on to the edge while the rocks crumbled away to dust, the _men_ were three steps behind you and you couldn't get out of that alley fast enough-

She sobbed as quietly as she could - not because she didn't want to attract their attention, but because the makeshift gag shoved between her lips wouldn't allow her to be too loud.

This was so _wrong_. There were _things_ in places she'd hardly broken in herself, greedy eyes looking at parts of her she sometimes blushed to see in the mirror, and this was all so un_fair_!

She was the eldest of three. She was supposed to end up an old maid, some kind of crazy old cat lady living in a shack in the shadier part of town. She was supposed to try and build a house of sticks, or turn into some petty, selfish stepsister. She wasn't supposed to be-

Sophie cried out once more as one of the men groped too harshly at her breasts.

This isn't fair, this isn't fair, this isn't fair! Sophie wanted to scream. I'm not even that pretty!

They'd called her a _mouse_, of all things. Why would they want to do _this_ to someone who they thought looked _mousey_? Not that she wanted them to pick someone pretty, of course. When it came to pretty girls, the first one she could picture was-

Lettie. And oh god, what was Lettie going to think? Sophie would have to go home (if they let her go home, she thought with a pathetic sort of shudder) and see her and then Lettie would _know_.

Everyone would know, Sophie realized with slow dawning horror, her eyes going wide even as her entire body seemed to numb itself. She lived in a small town. Word would spread faster than they would soon be saying she spread her legs.

There would be nowhere that she could go, nowhere she would be anonymous. The other girls that worked in the hat shop would all laugh at her, and Lettie would be too ashamed to be seen with her - not that Sophie would let herself spend any time with her sister, not when she knew what kind of damage that would do to Lettie's good, _pure _reputation.

She'd have to leave. She'd have to run away to the Wastes, or go to another town and start up a new life, or-

pain rippled between her legs as she felt something _burn_. Sophie felt herself jolted back to the moment, the feeling of slick, slick blood sliding down from between her legs making her want everything to be over, so she could just _die _already.

There would be no running away, not to some other town. How could she be so _stupid!_ Like she could ever forget, like anyone could ever not notice! She was _ruined_. She was ugly, and mousey, and worthless, and she was never going to go anywhere, ever again, and it was all because of these _stupid_ _men!_

Blinking the tears away from her eyes, Sophie took a deep a breath as she could, considering her current predicament, and turned her neck far enough to be able to see something other than. Well. The wall's bloody finger painting of her current situation. She hadn't wanted to have to watch any of it before, but now it _burned _so bad she had to look in truth, had to see if they'd done something different, done something to break her for real-

With a sick feeling in the hollow of her throat, Sophie realized that it wasn't just blood that was slicking down between her thighs.

The tinny laughter of the soldiers sounded far off. The ground seemed to be rushing up to meet her, even though she wasn't moving. The world blurred, and then refocused, blurred, then refocused.

There were thick, slimy trails of white _stuff_ falling out of her.

Sophie choked down the bile rising in her throat. The last thing she needed was more disgusting tasting liquids flavoring the remains of her skirt-turned-gag.

She was disgusting and impure and unclean and oh god they weren't even done with her yet because the one had grabbed her face and made some indecent gesture and was taking off her gag and oh god not again.

She didn't know what she was supposed to do. She felt helpless, she _was _helpless. She was still a teenager, practically a little kid. She still got _dolls_ from her mother on her birthday.

She was pushed against an alley wall, her eyes looking blankly past the two men who thought her _mousey_, past the blood and semen that was dripping down to form a puddle at her feet, past the angry looking face of what had to be the prettiest, and she hated it when girls used that word to refer to men because men were cruel, vicious, and handsome, not _pretty_, but looking at him with his pale hair and vibrant eyes and fucking delicate looking cheekbones-

There was a man. Sophie blinked rapidly, shedding the last of her tears and opening her eyes as wide as they'd get in order to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

She wasn't.

There was a man standing in the alley, the most beautiful man she'd seen in her life - not that that meant much, seeing as she'd thought the first soldier wasn't too bad looking, and look what good that did her.

But he was still standing there. And even if he was a man, even if he was some hideously selfish one like the two she had quickly become very well acquainted with, if only in the biblical sense, he was still human, and he was still _there_.

Looking at _her_.

And he looked...

_Angry_.

Help me, Sophie tried to scream but couldn't, her lips moving and no sound coming out. She wanted to scream in frustration, dig her fingernails into elbow and then _rip_ all the way down her forearm to her wrists. Here he was, here _anyone _was, and she was too fucking _something_ to ask for help.

And then she didn't need to. Because that was him, his slightly blurry features sharpening as he stepped into the little alcove of the alley, and he looked even more heartrendingly beautiful from close up.

It was a good thing that, at this point, Sophie thought a bit hysterically, she was pretty sure she didn't have a heart left to break.

"Honey?" His voice was dangerously smooth, all raging forest fire covered in white hot ash. It was the first sound Sophie had heard clearly ever since that man had grabbed her arm. With the sound of it, the wall of silence she had built over her shattered, and she could suddenly hear the harsh breathing of the two soldiers and the occasional _plip!_ of another drop of some type of bodily fluid hitting the ground.

She wasn't sure if she happier or not for being able to hear it.

"Sorry," By now, the two soldiers had noticed something was wrong. "for being so late." She couldn't see their faces, but by the way the furious look the man had upon his face had faded into something much more... _something_, she could guess that they had lost most of their bravado.

It wasn't like she didn't understand it. She almost sympathized with them. She was about ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't her he was angry at, and even she was resisting the urge to curl up under the covers and hope the world wouldn't see her.

But, well, she wanted to do that anyway, because of the two aforementioned shirking soldiers, so she wasn't giving them any quarter on _her_ moral grounds.

"Honey?" The deceptively calm voice was back again as the beautiful man seemed to reign himself in. His face smoothed out, his eyes flickered back to a distant opaqueness, and even his hair seemed to straighten out.

Despite his softening, Sophie couldn't keep herself from flinching at his word choice. Honey was _not_ how she wanted to be referred to by any greedy, selfish _man_. She had enough trouble when men called her mousey. She'd hate to see what they might be compelled to do if they thought she was _sweet_.

The blond man's eyes flickered from her to the two soldiers. "Would you mind?" He asked, almost pleasantly. For a brief, horror stricken moment, Sophie wondered if his aims weren't so different from her previous captors after all.

The soldiers seemed to have much the same idea. "Hey," the easy smiling one said, raising his hands up non-provocatively. "Find your own. My friend and the pretty lady here are busy-"

"It wasn't a question," the man retorted. And then, for what seemed like no reason at all, both soldiers abruptly stiffened, turned on their heels, and marched down the alley. Sophie, glancing down at their deserted garments, didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.

A dangerous sort of look played on the blond's face - some cross between a smirk and a scowl. For some inexplicable reason, Sophie was suddenly very glad that she wasn't one of those soldiers. Then he turned back to her, his eyes flickering to her tear-stained, bloodied face before glancing away. It took Sophie a moment to realize he was trying to preserve her modesty.

Ha. Too little, too late.

"If the lady would care to get dressed?" The man murmured, head still respectfully bowed away. Sophie was about to scoff, and ask in what, because _her_ old dress certainly wasn't going to be of any use to anybody anytime soon.

Well, she'd like to think she'd scoff, but mostly she was about to collapse on the floor, wrap her arms around her legs, and cry. If any was the time to break down in hysterics, she supposed now would be that time.

Except. What. Was. _That._

There was a dress hanging off of the man's outstretched arm.

Well, that's convenient, Sophie thought, her mind numb from shock. She reached out to snatch the soft fabric away from him anyway. Contrary to what would most likely soon become popular belief, she wasn't a fan of public indecency.

The dress fit, Sophie noted in a daze. Surprisingly well, actually. And it was much closer to her style than most of the dresses in fashion were. She turned around to look back at the man only to find that-

Her dress was gone. Not the one she was wearing, _thankfuckinggod_, but the one that was, well. No longer much of a dress.

Her hands shaking, Sophie looked down at what she realized was an eerily familiar skirt. If not for the fact that this dress, being mostly sleeveless and slightly less long, contained less material-

"Sorry," the man had apparently realized she was done dressing and had turned to look at her. "I couldn't save all of the fabric."

Right then. Sophie wiped her bloody palms on her skirt. "That's alright," she forced herself to say, mouth dry. She could see it, now, a bloody looking ball of material shoved against the alley wall. She looked back down at her dress. Her dress. Looking newer and better than ever.

Sophie finally convinced herself to look back at what she now suspected to be some sort of magical being, a wizard, most likely. She supposed he _could _be a demon, but, well.

She didn't think a demon would save her, make her a dress, and then stand awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, as he waited to see what she said of it. Maybe if he was demanding she give her heart or something in payment, but glance nervously from his shoes to her and then back to his shoes?

She kind of figured a demon would be more impressive.

Sophie waited in an awkward, uneasy sort of silence until it finally hit her that he was waiting for her to say something. Great. "Are you a wizard?" She finally blurted out, hoping he'd stay on the relatively safe topic.

He looked up from his shoes, alarmed. Sophie held back a snort. What did he think she was going to do, call the police on him? The last thing she wanted to do was have to answer some uniform wearing man's questions about why she was all torn up.

Like she ever wanted to tell _anyone_ any of that.

"What makes you say that?" The wizard asked, fingers fidgeting with each other. If Sohpie could have felt like doing anything at that point, right then she would have felt like rolling her eyes. She glanced pointedly at her current apparel and then at the soiled pile of shredded fabric that was all that remained of her former dress. "Oh! Yes... That." He rubbed at his arm nervously. "I can explain!"

Sophie gave him a doubting look. "I know you're not the Witch of the Waste," she said, watching him start at the name. "Although, judging by those clothes..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The wizard said rather sharply before seemingly remembering something. "Oh. Not that there's anything wrong with what you said!" Sophie looked at him oddly, quirking one slim eyebrow.

"I understand that you-" Suddenly, the man cut off what he was saying to glance down the alleyway. Something he saw apparently startled him, because he quickly stepped away before glancing back at her. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice suddenly very serious. "But I'm being followed."

Sophie looked at him, a faint feeling of alarm managing to fight its way through her numb stupor. What was he saying? He couldn't just leave her here! What if the soldiers came back? What if whatever was following him decided it could take a detour to bother some bleeding girl in an alleyway? "You can't just leave me here!"

His mouth set into a firm, hard line, and Sophie half wondered if he was going to argue with her. "Fine then," he quickly moved towards her, reaching for her hand. When she flinched back, his voice softened. "If you're coming with me, we've got to go. Now."

Fear and worry and anger filled her chest like so much thick blood pudding. She let him grab a hold of her hand and pull her down the street anyway. "It looks like you're involved," the wizard remarked almost pensively.

What on earth was he talking about? "We're headed down a dead end!" The wizard's face softened when he heard the fear her voice, which was great and all, because he was starting to look sort of frightening, but Sophie would much rather he do something about the wall blocking their escape than try to play at be comforting.

Present problems aside, he wasn't very good at it.

"Don't worry," he said as he gripped her hand tighter than before. "Just straighten your legs and keep walking!"


	4. Chapter 4

Howl didn't know what to do. His hands almost felt _clammy_, which was definitely _not_ conductive to maintaining his debonair, everyman's gentleman air. Plus, he was half afraid he was going to be sick on his pseudo date. After everything that had gone down, he was pretty sure he wasn't the one who was allowed to puke.

They'd already moved far past that alleyway, but the smell of blood and sweat and sex was still ripe in the air. It didn't bother him much until he realized it was coming from the wide eyed girl next to him. Once he had…

Those two soldiers were lucky he'd been too distracted to cast a proper tracking charm. He'd torn others to shreds for much less.

He much preferred the scent of cinnamon and soap over sex and gore. To go around and purposely make his life harder for him by forcing him to suffer through some of his least favorites aromas! Those two bastards were lucky he'd only sent them off streaking.

"Where are we going?" The currently walking on air blood and sweat and semen scented candle asked him. It took him a while to remember how to respond.

"Oh, right. I suppose we should have some sort of destination in mind…" Howl determinedly did not glance at her as he spoke. "Is there somewhere you'd like me to take you? Anywhere someone you know-"

"No!" The girl almost shrieked, her hand almost crushing his in her terror.

Well then, Howl thought, half cross. What did she think he could do, cart her around town forever? "No? Surely you have family, or friends, somewhere here in town?"

"Well, I-" The girl hesitated, rubbing at a scratch at her neck that Howl. Most. Definitely. Did. Not. See. "No." She said, almost defiantly. "I don't."

"Oh, what do you think you're going to do then?" Howl snapped at her as he lead the two of them over to the side of the festival. "You think it's better to just go waltzing around with the horrible, eat your heart Howl than to face the facts and go home?"

The girl choked on a whimper. It sounded, he thought rather spitefully, like a cat coughing up some dead rat. "You're Howl?"

Just let it sink in a moment, the wizard bitterly thought, and then once the little brat had realized what a dangerous person she'd been clinging to, she wouldn't be able to wait to get out of his hair and-

"That's perfect!" Wide brown eyes flashed as the girl swung around to beam at him. For the first time in the few minutes he had known her, she didn't seem to be afraid. "You're Howl!"

"Well," the wizard remarked rather dryly as he pulled them over onto a rooftop. "That's what the girl's usually say." He flicked his eyes down her dress, relishing in her flinch. "Somehow, I didn't peg you as the usual type."

The girl snorted, reaching up with one hand to push her bangs out of her eyes. Howl tried not to lean back to noticeably. Really, _snorting_? Was she raised in a barn? And what had happened to poor meek little me? "Don't be obtuse," she retorted.

Howl sighed, his annoyance rapidly growing. Why was it always the seemingly quiet looking ones that always grew a backbone? "I'm afraid, my dear lady, that I can't quite comprehend your meaning."

She rolled her eyes. Rolled. Her. Eyes. At _him_. Who did this chit think she was? Howl was half tempted to fly off and leave her stranded. Last time he'd be nice to whatever poor sod he'd deigned to save from danger in some alleyway. "You're Howl, the wizard. Right?" The half-annoyed, half-bored blond nodded, hoping she'd get to the freaking out so he could get the freak out of there. "The one who eats the hearts of beautiful girls?"

He nodded again. Really, was that the story now? You'd think they could make it sound a little bit more poetic than _that_. He didn't spend so much time on his beauty potions for the shriveled up prudes like the one before him to be able to sum his whole act up in little more than a sentence! "Are we quite done stating the obvious? Or are we going to move on to the color of the sky and the direction of gravity next?"

Shaking her head furiously, the girl had the gall to ignore him. Really, to ignore _him_! "I want to move in with you!"

Wait.

What.

"What?" Howl asked, somewhat weakly. _That_ he hadn't been expecting. At all.

"I want to move in with you," the girl repeated, voice still determined. It wavered a bit as she thought of her next statement, but it was still stronger than it had been since... well, since he'd met her. He wondered if it made him a bad person if he'd rather have it shaky again, if that meant she would drop her ridiculous idea of... ridiculousness. "I can cook!" Probably.

"But I don't need a cook!" Howl complained weakly, still slightly confused about how the subject had somehow moved from the unmentionable to his prowess in the kitchen. "I'm a perfectly capable cook!"

The girl merely raised an eyebrow. Doubting him, the great wizard Howl? How dare she! But before he could teach her why people all over the continent trembled at his name, she spoke again. "Fine then. I can clean."

"Why would you think I'd need a housekeeper?" Seeing as she was about to open her mouth again, he quickly moved on. He really didn't want to hear what her undoubtedly asinine reasons were, although he supposed he couldn't blame her for her temporary fit. People had been driven insane from far less. They couldn't all be as amazing as his own self. "Why would you think I'd possibly want _you _as a housekeeper? Furthermore," the wizard paused, actually half curious, "why would you want to be _my_ housekeeper?" The _Aren't you afraid I'm going to eat your heart? _part went unsaid.

"You are Howl, right?" The girl asked, twisting her fingers together. "Not some other wizard?" Impatient, Howl waved her on. He had things to do, places to be, and she did take ever so long to get to the point. "Well then, that's why!"

Howl was feeling sort of lost again. And by sort of, he meant very. The fact that he was Howl seemed more to be a reason against, not a reason for her argument. But before he could make enough of his flabbergasted mind to get out any more than a quick, "Excuse me?" she was off again.

The twist to the girl's lips was too derisive to be called a smile. "After all," she said as she turned her pretty abused little head to face him head on, "the wizard Howl only takes the hearts of pretty girls."

If he was any less skilled in the art of avoiding conflict, he would have been quick to reply - _and how does that make you feel any safer? - _but he wasn't, and so he didn't. Instead, he simply reminded himself to breathe, shut his open mouth, and glared at a passing pigeon.

It was probably better to accidentally take out his anger on some stupid avian than it was on the perverse, insane little victim in front of him, so he spared a moment to collect himself. "And what exactly does that trifling fact have to do with our current predicament?" he finally asked, as delicately as he could manage. He wasn't quite back to his usual debonair standard, but he didn't see the point in wasting much more effort on an obviously insane girl as the one he found before him.

The snort, Howl was displeased to find, was back with a vengeance. "Please," the irritating little chit remarked. "don't be so dense."

"I-I'm sorry?" First his cooking prowess, then his intelligence? If this was how she went about in a job interview, it was no wonder she didn't have any friends or family to collect her, Howl thought rather spitefully.

"The wizard Howl only takes the hearts of pretty girls," the girl repeated. And then she went on. "As I am obviously _not_ pretty," Wait. What? "as recent events have only come to prove," Again, what? "that means that you are my only option."

"R-run that by me again?" Howl was in shock. Or at least was moderately freaked out, which practically amounted to the same thing: that oft cursed stutter he'd thought he'd slithered out of years ago as well as that awkwardly high pitch his voice got when he was nervous that had been one of the (admittedly smaller) reasons he'd started slithering out of things in the first place.

Great. As if today couldn't get anymore embarrassing.

The girl actually had the gall to look impatient with him! What was wrong with her! Well, aside from the obvious insanity and, er, obvious-er recent events.

"Howl, that is you," The chit pointed a sharp finger at him. He hoped she didn't notice his flinch at the slight bloody tint to it. "steals the hearts of pretty girls. Yes. Yes?" Although her tone was questioning, her expression certainly wasn't. Howl nodded rather quickly and wondered why these sorts of girls always seemed able to make a fool of him.

"Seeing as, one: I am not pretty, and two: the rest of the world doesn't share your admirably high principles," and was it just him, or did it actually sound like she was being serious? "That means that while I can't speak for the rest of the desperate," here it looked like she might have wanted to flinch, and if he'd had any more of a heart, he might have felt sorry for her. Maybe. If she'd cut it out with all the comments about his domestic prowess, that was. "male population, I can speak for you, right?"

"Yes?" Somewhere in the middle of her diatribe, he'd gotten lost - oh shit, he hadn't just agreed to get married again, had he? The last time he'd let someone speak for him hadn't been pretty... he'd woken up in a place he'd never wanted to wake up in again.

"Well then, there you go." The girl leaned back with a satisfied air, crossing her arms below her - crossing her arms, Howl hurriedly finished thinking.

"Where exactly was it that we ended up at?" Howl smoothed his hair down nervously. As long as she didn't say married, he was good.

The girl just looked at him. "With you, hiring me as your new maid, because you really need one," did she just cast a disparaging look at _his _clothes? "and I need a place to stay with a-" Howl watched the shudder of her throat as she swallowed, "where there aren't any people who might... want me."

There were a thousand things Howl wanted to say about that. Granted, half of them weren't exactly sonnet worthy and instead were mostly about where she could shove her offer because who did she think she was!, but the other half? Pure therapeutic gold. Which was why, when she opened her mouth and ruined three-quarters of them, he found himself at a loss.

"Did you know?" The bitterness was back to her voice, although this time it was tinged with something uniquely - not, well, sweet, but - "This is the first time in my life I've ever been happy that I'm not pretty."

Howl shut his mouth and then opened it again. "Well then, come on," he said almost gruffly (except he absolutely refused to do gruff. At all. So make that more of a... debonairly, or charmingly, or, wait - can't do that either now, could he? Fuck this was gong to be hard) as he stretched out an arm and watched her take it. "I'm heartless Howl, aren't I? There's no need to worry about me falling in love with the likes of you then, is there?" His smile was as unknowingly bittersweet as her former words.

The girl looked up at him again, raising her face from the shadows of the setting sun quick enough to make something in his empty chest skip hard enough to hurt. "Good then! So... So, it's alright?"

"Of course." Howl murmured, leading the both of them off the wooden railing and into the waiting air. If the skin on his other arm rippled, if his fingers clenched tight enough to split his palms, if feathers yearned to stretch out - well, they were both far too busy spinning reassurances to notice. "Everything's going to be fine."

His lips felt oddly tight as he smiled. "No need to worry at all."

He'd spent his life running away from love. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be a challenge to avoid it with the seemingly only girl who, when it came to him, didn't want it.


	5. Chapter 5

Lukewarm water slid, slowly, above her silently shaking arms. The sharp tang of disgust Sophie had somehow managed to feel when she first walked into the room, first seen the splatters of what looked like paint and turned out to be much worse, had long faded away. By the time she had finished wiping herself down with the thankfully provided washcloth, she was almost glad of the room's disorderly chaos. The pinkish tint her blood left would have been much more disorienting if the washcloth, once dunked in the tub, hadn't quickly turned blue, or purple, or green or yellow or orange or anything except for-

red.

The ragged, bitten ends of her nails gleamed, dirt free, against the soft, reflected light of the tub. Sophie's shoulders had long stopped shaking, her hands held as steady as usual, which, as they were usually spent working day in and day out in the hat shop, weren't as steady as most, but still much improved from only an hour past. She wasn't sure if it was some spell or just some leftover potion dried in the soap or the crust of color in the tub, but the worst of her scratches had already scabbed over, while the least had already started to fade. Her head was still dull, fogged over with steam and exhaustion, but she could almost pretend that was as it should be. After a long day spent toiling in the shop, she had often enough taken a hot bath in an attempt to loosen up her sore muscles.

If it wasn't for the deadened, pervasive ache that rolled through the still tensed muscles of her shoulders and her back; if it wasn't for the faint, but persistent, empty feeling of weariness that stained, the abused hinge of her jaw like a particularly nasty bruise; if it wasn't for the weak, yet unshakable suspicion that her arms, her legs, her fingers and toes, and her stomach and throat, her every little limb and every little muscle were all just one, just one little push, one little shove, one little piece of straw away from crashing down, down, down and leaving her drowning in a watery pool of blood and hate and fear, she could almost call herself okay.

A drop of water fell from her damp hair, leaving a cold trail of goose bumps down her arm. Another ran down her forehead, sloping away from the curve of her brow and down across her eyelashes. Sophie blinked it away.

Snippets of a much more lighter life managed to sneak their way through the shut door. "Markl!" An outraged squawk interrupted the seeming stillness of the bathroom; a series of crashings and bangings then further belied her fantasy of solitude. While she sunk into herself in cooled water, a little world of its own went about its daily business right outside her breached sanctuary. A brave wicked wizard and what had seemed to be a shivering wreck of a little apprentice argued with camaraderie in their insults and-

plop.

Another drop of water fell, as helpless as any forsaken castaway, to the color splattered grout boardering a rather plain tile; prismatic ripples shimmered as each ricocheted off the other, creating a cascading symphony of blood, sweat, and tears; soft fibers shivered as almost steady hands raised the plush towel from its imprisoning hook.

Sophie stood up and stepped out.

There was such a thing as too much of a good thing. Sophie, with her work ethic, had never had a problem believing that much. Whether it concerned sweets, or vacations, or even nice, luxurious baths, she had never had a problem being the mature one, even when she had still technically been a child. She wondered if it was because she was the eldest daughter, if a childhood of fixing lunches and bandaging scrapes and doing other little girls' hair had rendered her incapable of taking the time off to be a layabout, to sit and sulk and feel perfectly content wasting her time on useless things like herself.

There were always things to be done, whether that meant staying late to finish that last brim or waking early to get a head start on spring cleaning. There were always visits to be made, not for social pleasures - or, at least, not only for - but out of simple necessity. Lettie had always needed an eye kept on her, and even with a hat shop to run, Sophie was forever trying to find the extra half hour needed to slip away to her and dissuade her of whatever latest fanciful notion she'd picked up. At least Martha, for all her baby fat and missing teeth, seemed to have a more level head on her shoulders.

Sophie stared blankly at the mirror in front of her. Dull brown hair, apathetic brown eyes, a pair of hard set lips…

With a rustling thump!, the towel was thrown to the floor. Sophie gave her naked reflection one last searching look before she turned and picked up the set of clothes her unlikely savior had left for her.

Sophie had never been good at wasting time when there was work to be done. No excuses were to be allowed. Even if life had seen to throw at her one of the most appealing ones yet, Sophie was in no way willing to use it. She was a Hatter, after all. She'd do her things her own way, and let not a thing anyone might say bother her. She was already far too used to being called mad to let it start to get to her now.

With that last thought in her mind and that one last tremble in her hand, Sophie reached out past her fears and through her worries-

and opened the door.

A pair of sullen eyes set above feverish cheeks stared the nonplussed Sophie down. "I need to use the bathroom." The little boy told her, his voice tinged with the sort of self-pitying arrogance that even the most inconsequential of illnesses lends to young children. Sophie was so surprised at the sudden appearance of his serious, determined little face that she almost forgot to be afraid.

"Al-" Without waiting for her to finish her statement, the boy staggered past her in a surge of shivering coughs and retches. "-right then." Sophie looked at the still heaving boy before she glanced down the narrow hallway. She never would have guessed heartless Howl would have a kid, of all things. "Hey," she said once he'd stopped puking and instead sat there in front of the toilet, a shivering little wreck of a boy. She was still a little hard pressed to care about anything at all at that moment, but the kid was a pitiful enough of a distraction to tug upon her instincts as an older sister. "Where's your mom?" Sophie asked, willing enough to go fetch help if she didn't show up soon. Doing anything, even if anything was babysitting a possibly contagious kid, was better than thinking anything, as long as anything led to-

"Don't have one." The boy hiccuped as he dragged one shaking hand across his mouth. While Sophie, her mind still shrouded by the last remnants of that dull fog known as shock, tried to process his statement, he reached blindly for the rim of the toilet as he hunched over and gagged once more.

"And your dad?" Sophie asked, meaning Howl. Heartless as he was, he'd let a worthless girl like her stay. He wouldn't go out and leave his sick kid behind. "Is he home?"

"Don't ha-" the boy's words were cut off as he began dry heaving once more. "n-no." Even though his squashed little face was the picture of misery, his tone turned friendlier as he looked over at her probably worried expression. "Don't worry though," he said, and Sophie found herself almost wanting to smile at his attempt to cheer her up. "Master Howl went out to get medicine."

Medicine was all well and good, Sophie knew, but she could also tell from just one look at the kid that what he needed wasn't some pills in a bottle but a nice warm bed with a bucket close at hand. "Is anyone else home?" she asked.

His stomach apparently settling, the boy shook his head as he eased himself back to lean against the wall. "Nope," he said, apparently content to rest against the wall. Suddenly, as if the thought that she was a possibly no good but definitely strange stranger had just entered his head, he narrowed his bleary eyes at her. "Who're you?"

Determinedly holding back her flinch when he glared up at her - he couldn't have been older than ten or eleven, he was practically Martha's age, had she really sunk so low as to be afraid of little twerps who were still losing their baby teeth? - Sophie knelt down, dragged the shivering urchin into her arms, and stumbled to her feet. "I," she said as the boy blearily pointed down the hall towards what she hoped was his room, "am your new cleaning lady."

Sophie's lips twisted into a mockery of a smile that the kid, brown eyes shut tight against her shoulder, couldn't see. "But you can call me Auntie Sophie."


End file.
